He grunted aggressively and without warning, a stiff gust of stinking gas blasting forth into the ill-prepared faces ahind his colono-rectal pipework and causing not one but two of them to wrinkle in disgust before vomiting, albeit only into their closed mouths, leaving them able to tidily dispose of the chunder out of the window in one case and, after an undignified struggle, back down their scalded gullet in the other.
He accepted that anyone who dares to host a party will be left with a big clean-up in the morn, but even so, he was dismayed and really quite angry to find that among the cans, the bottles, the sticky spillages, the improvised ashtrays and the hundreds of discarded nitrous oxide canisters, his so-called friends had also left not one but twelve full logs of poo, four times as many nuggets and, yes, a whole wall decorated with an almost impossible number of bogeys.
“What?” she spluttered indignantly. “I risked my life saving yours! I should get a medal!”
“I’ll give you a medal,” he said with a snarl. “Kneel down.”
She knelt expectantly. Something seemed wrong, but she assumed that this must be part of the medal presentation. Damn it! If she’d known, she would’ve got her family to come and watch. She would’ve dressed in her best, got professional makeup, arranged for a photogr- SPLAT! He’d launched the medal onto her face with his big wanger and was now strutting away. She was amazed that the ceremony was over so quickly, but also very proud. Only after he had sped off in his Proton Saga did it dawn on her that his bestowal had not in fact been a medal as such but rather a stringy cord of pubic mucus.
She insisted that if they just waited for the lift they would get to the bottom sooner, but he already had a foot on the escalator. She let him go and he looked back up to see her giggling as she ran and got into the glass-fronted capsule, pressed the button frantically to close the doors and held her bag and grinned at him as she descended smoothly to the middle floor, reaching it just before he did and only stopping for a moment to let another woman in before resuming her descent. Complacent as always, he casually strolled round and got onto the second escalator. She grinned wider and began to give mocking gestures, knowing that he would still be ten feet from the ground when she touched down, but her wanker sign stopped and her face turned to sickened horror as he realised too, flung himself off the moving metal staircase, plunged through the few inches of water by the fountain and crunched his head horribly into the coin-strewn tiles, blood and, it appeared, deeply golden urine surrounding him as he expired to the sound of a pre-recorded Tannoy announcement.
“Stop biting your nails!” she screeched as she slipped between two dimensions.
He sprinted into the main hall, the policeman’s hands almost on him, but he skirted round the crowd, dove through a gap and somersaulted beautifully into the five-tier wedding cake, utterly covering himself and the nearest dozen or so people in marzipan and bits of cherry and apricot and fulfilling his mission with style before being taken to gaol and, probably, made to disappear.
She had a seriously big pair of cajungas. He knew that much. But, no, he eventually agreed that that alone should not determine whether her life support should be kept on indefinitely.
“Watch this!” he screamed, suddenly hurling himself off the cliff and opening a parachute with ‘#BANTS’ inscribed on it in lurid fluorescent pink, which the lads thought was a bit gay, but their concern turned to admiration as he unclipped himself and roared ‘Oi oi!’ as he tumbled toward the jagged rocks so far below.
Little Jamie was running around, Jayden was following him, Katie had just pooed in her nappy and now mother was calling for help from upstairs too, and if she was calling while the kids were going mad, that meant it was urgent. Now she saw smoke coming from the oven. Shit! She’d forgotten about their waffles. Oh, God. And it was raining. The washing had to be dry for this evening. Then her phone started ringing, and it was her boss. He never usually rang. Just as she was about to answer it, she heard a sharp rap on the front door and a face trying to poke through the letterbox. The bailiff! Oh, God. And he’d definitely seen her already. Her mum called again. She told Katie to just stay still for a moment. She thought of getting Jamie to bring in the washing but then almost laughed at the idea. She began to scurry upstairs. But then the smoke alarm went off, and it was piercingly loud. Suddenly, near the bottom of the stairs, she found herself losing control, and turd after turd plunged out of her arse, into and through her knickers and fell free to flop indecorously into the puddle of piss she had poured forth at the same time.
His lips exploded! Well, that will happen if you pay the lowest possible price in Dhaka to get them ‘done’, or so he had been told over the crackling phone line by his concerned mother, but had he listened? Had he fuck. Ah, man, it really hurt too. Still, perhaps he could distract people by getting some more botox in his already-bulging forehead, or maybe in the hideously rigid flesh around his eyes.